Swim Until You Can't See Land
by Rygelina
Summary: Song-fic set in the past after Nikita's first mission in "Rough Trade".


Disclaimer: I do not own the characters and situations of Nikita. Song-lyrics borrowed from the beautiful "Swim Until You Can't See Land" by Frightened Rabbit.

**Swim Until You Can't See Land**

_And if I hadn't come now to the coast to disappear  
>I may have died in a land-slide of rocks and hopes and fear.<em>

He's always there, watching.

I used to savor it. I used to revel in his lingering glances, proud in the knowledge that he was proud of me. Now, everything's changed.

Instead of easy banter and tenuous friendship, we tip-toe around each other, wary and watchful. A wall of foul deeds and spiteful words has sprung up between us. The trust is still there, but my faith in him has been shaken, and the guilt and pain of the past week is starting to morph into something very much like hate.

He doesn't understand why I feel this way. He _refuses _to understand, and it's tearing me apart. The same questions still echo in my mind. _How could you do this to me? Why won't you listen? I thought you cared? _I still want to know why – I _need _to know why – but it's becoming obvious that he has no answers to give, and nothing I can do will change that. He has shifted in my eyes, lost some of his shine, and I can't seem to forgive him for that.

It makes me want to cry, but I don't cry, so I get angry instead. Angry at the world, angry at Division, angry at myself. But mostly I'm angry at Michael.

Today I find myself taking it out on some poor newbie who can barely defend himself. I punch him and kick him, again and again, and it feels good not being on the receiving end for once. A part of me is appalled at my own behavior, but the angry part doesn't care. I raise my fist for another punch only to find it caught in a steel vise.

"That's enough."

A familiar voice, now with a distinct bite to it. _Michael. _I whirl around and tear my hand from his grip, ignoring the pain and the bruises it will no doubt leave behind.

"Get your hands off me," I snarl at him. As usual these days the air between us crackle with animosity. We have been circling each other for quite a while now, exchanging nothing but barely civil barbs and looks like poisoned daggers.

He blinks once. "Excuse me?" It seems we have both finally had enough.

"You heard me."

His eyes narrow and he steps right into my face. "I don't know what your problem is, _recruit_, but this is not the time or place." He raises a hand towards the exit. "Go back to your quarters."

There is icy disapproval in his eyes. He obviously doesn't like what he sees, and that lashes me to the core. I search his face, desperately looking for my friend, but all I see is the cold stranger that has taken his place. Something inside me... gives way.

I cross my arms over my chest. "No."

A look of outrage flits across his face. "Stand down. _Now_." Everyone knows that tone of voice. He doesn't use it very often, but when he does people tend to scramble out of his path. It's a warning, but I pay it no heed. The room is deathly silent now.

"Make me." He goes very still, and I can see his control slipping. A fine trembling permeates his frame and I take a perverse delight in knowing I've pissed him off. "No? I didn't think so. You always follow the rules like a good little dog. _Coward._"

The words come out harsher than intended, but I am beyond caring. All I can do is stand there and lash out at him, throwing my pain in his face like a gauntlet. He takes a step forward – to do what I don't know – and it's the spark that lights the powder-keg beneath our feet. I hit him. Hard.

I must have taken him by surprise. His head snaps back and Michael looks as stunned as I feel. He slowly wipes at his mouth and his fingers come away red with blood. He lifts his gaze to me and something shifts in his eyes, something dark and lethal and painful. A small part of me quails in fear, but that sane part isn't in control anymore. He doesn't speak, only removes his jacket and rolls up his sleeves; his movements jerky, nothing at all like his normal, fluid grace.

It's impossible to say who makes the first move, we're just suddenly moving, the surrounding world reduced to a blur. I always knew he was holding back on me, now I realize just how much. That suits me just fine.

Everything is a flurry of fists, elbows and knees. The familiar pattern of punches, blocks and kicks is almost comforting. It's a language we know well. Feelings are messy. This is straight-forward, simple even. Punch, block, repeat. Division won't allow us to give voice to what we feel inside, so we take our frustration out on each other. Chemistry and kicking ass. It's all we've ever been good at, anyway.

It's almost an even match. Michael has taught me well, after all. Still, it doesn't take me long to realize he has the advantage. After a while I can feel the strength ebbing from my arms, and then I walk straight into Michael's nasty left hook. He quickly follows up with a leg-sweep and this time I don't react fast enough. We land on the mat in a tangle of limbs. I wind up on my stomach with a knee in the small of my back and my right arm twisted up somewhere between my shoulder blades.

"Tap out, Nikita. I will hurt you."

"Go to hell, you bas—_Aaaah!_" He tightens his grip even more and I can't help but cry out in pain.

"Tap out, Nikita."

I twist around furiously, trying to wriggle free somehow, but there's no use. My anger flares up again and I curse him through gritted teeth. Our battle has suddenly turned into a battle of wills, and I get the sinking feeling that I'm about to lose. I feel his fingers flex again and I can't take it anymore. I slam my left hand down in defeat. He immediately lets me go.

For a moment I just lie there and breathe, waiting for the blood-flow to return to my arm. As it does, the fight slowly seeps out of me. It's beginning to dawn on me that I am truly alone. The one person I thought I could rely on, Michael – my mentor, my savior, my one constant in a world of darkness – won't necessarily be there to catch me when I fall.

As I drag myself up off the mat, the weight of the world seems to settle on my shoulders. Defeat is bitter like ashes in my mouth and mingles with the taste of blood. My entire body is pounding and my hands are bruised and bleeding. Michael also looks decidedly worse for wear, but it's a small comfort when it feels like I've ripped out my heart and left it on the floor. I wait calmly for my punishment.

The other recruits have gone back to their training, eyes fixed in front, avoiding the train-wreck in their midst. The guards glance nervously between us. One of them suggest going to Medical. Michael acknowledges him with a nod and dismisses him without ever taking his eyes off me. Eyes that are still cold, but now somehow burn.

_Up to my knees now, do I wade? Do I dive?_  
><em>The sea has seen my like before though it's my first and perhaps last time.<em>  
><em>Let's call me a baptist, call this a drowning of the past.<em>  
><em>She is there on the shoreline throwing stones at my back.<em>

He says nothing, just grabs my arm and leads me off down the corridors. He is still angry, despite his little victory. I can tell from the none-too-gentle grip on my elbow and his lifeless expression. Without warning he pulls me into an empty room and slams the door behind us.

He whirls me around to face him. "What the hell was that all about?"

He's all but shaking me, but I can't even muster up the indignation to push him away. I'm so tired all of a sudden. All the righteous fury has leeched out of me, leaving only numbness in its wake.

Again I search his face, once so familiar and dear to me, even more so than I ever wanted to admit. His eyes are angry, yes, but also full of reproach. To him, I am still the bad-guy. Whatever I do I can't make him understand. Whatever I do I can't convince him that he's wrong, that Percy is wrong, and I don't have the strength to keep beating my head against the wall anymore. To my dismay I can feel tears welling up in my eyes. I don't know what to say so I just shake my head.

"Nothing. It doesn't matter anymore, Michael."

"Nothing?" He sounds unconvinced. He briefly touches his thumb to my still bleeding lip. "All this for nothing?" For the first time in a long while I can see a torment equaling my own reflected in his eyes, and it twists his face into a mask of pain and sorrow. "Nikita, I..." He takes a step closer, and I can't help it. I flinch. His eyes go black with emotion. "I'm sorry." The words are low, barely a whisper.

A small lick of fury cuts through my fatigue. _For what?_ I want to scream at him. _For hurting me? Or for letting me go when I need you the most? _I turn to leave and he stops me. Not by grabbing my arm again, but by interlacing his fingers with mine. The touch is soft, almost plaintive. My steps falter. His strong fingers wrap around mine, and I know that it's a silent plea for understanding, even though he still can't – or won't – say the words out loud.

I can still hear his words, the only answer he apparently has to give. _"We don't ask questions." _But I can see it in his eyes, eyes filled with confusion and guilt: we're not so different, after all. His doubts and fears are the same as mine, the only difference is he refuses to acknowledge them. It's a difference that has grown into a gulf between us. I cannot reconcile the man I know with the cold stranger that follows every order unquestioningly, no matter what. Maybe he is both. Maybe he is neither. Or maybe he is just like me.

Tentatively, I reach up and lay my hand against his cheek. It's like he's been holding his breath. All the tension escapes on a shuddering breath, and he lowers his face to mine. For a long time we just stand there, forehead to forehead, taking comfort in each other's presence. It seems like forever, but I know it can't be.

I used to follow his every lead. Happily, blindly. Now I'm beginning to realize that someday I will have to leave him behind.

"I'm sorry, too," I whisper. I back away, a part of me aching at his expression of loss. As I close the door behind me, a single tear escapes down my cheek. I wipe it away before anyone can see.

The very next day I'm promoted to agent.

_Now the water's taller than me and the land is a marker line._  
><em>All I am is a body adrift in water, salt and sky.<em>  
><em><br>So swim until you can't see land._  
><em>Swim until you can't see land.<em>  
><em>Swim until you can't see land.<em>  
><em>Are you a man? Are you a bag of sand?<em>

THE END


End file.
